Four Conversations That Could Have Saved The World
by isis uf
Summary: In the end, it all comes down to the moments we choose to live or don’t. Complete
1. Chapter 1

**Four Conversations That Could Have Saved the World (And One That Did)**

By Isisuf

**Rating** – PG-13 or T  
**Warnings** – AU (obviously), some darker themes, cursing and intentional abuse of grammar (and the English language in general) for stylistic purposes  
**Disclaimer** –The quote from Remus in the first conversation is a movie which wasn't made yet and they wouldn't have seen it even if it had been, but I felt that particular quote worked well. All rights to that line (and all the characters, and this entire world) belong to someone other than me.  
**Pairings** – Mostly gen, but with some James/Lily and if you turn your head sideways and squint properly you might infer Remus/Sirius  
**Summary** – In the end, it all comes down to the moments we choose to live or don't.

**Dedications** – Each conversation is dedicated to someone different – 1 is for SeradeBlack, 2 is for rjlupinskat, 3 is for Mariahgem, 4 is for adianavy and 5 is for AnotherDreamer5. Thanks to you five, my betas or inspiration or, in some cases, both.

i.

It's four days until Christmas when Regulus shows up, hollowed and haunted on Sirius' front stoop, unwilling or unable to ring the bell. Sirius can see him through the window, but despite the bitter chill wafting through London, he makes no move to greet (or shoo away) his younger brother. If Regulus has something to say to him, he'll bloody well have to make the effort himself.

"Bugger all," Sirius hears Regulus mutter from outside followed by two, short, sharp raps.

Sirius pauses a moment, leaning against the door with the knowledge that his brother – the real one, not one of those he's assigned the title – is inches away. So, _so_ close, but with distance built into the spaces between them.

It's not until he hears a rustle of feet – a step, a turn – outside that he lowers the wards and opens the door.

Seeing Regulus is like looking at one of those funhouse mirrors he found so amusing when Lily dragged them to a carnival after graduation, only this isn't funny at all. Regulus is the same, except, of course, he's entirely different.

They've always looked a lot alike, a byproduct of centuries of inbreeding he supposes. But now Sirius' sharp, high cheekbones look hollow on Regulus' face and his gray eyes positively pale given the dark circles and bags beneath them. Sirius is the elder brother, but for all his youth, Regulus looks older now.

Sirius _almost_ shuts the door. He wants to. There is so much hurt there, so much bad blood, and he knows, _knows_ he's gotten the short end of the stick. It would feel so good to just give a little back. Just a little. Just for a moment, make Regulus taste what it feels like to be cast aside, thrown out, passed over. He wants to so very, very badly.

But, as he starts to push the door shut, those hollow, haunted eyes catch his. If Regulus had looked angry or sneered or yelled or tried to stick his foot in the doorway, Sirius would have shut that door in a heartbeat, forever locking Regulus on the outside. But he doesn't. Like everything else simultaneously familiar and foreign about the younger Black, Regulus looks at his brother with resignation. And that… _that_ gives him pause.

_I deserve this_, his eyes say. _I do._ _I deserve this and nothing better._

"What do you want?" Sirius asks harshly, one hand on the doorknob and one on his wand.

"I…" Regulus' voice is raspy and thick with emotion that Blacks don't have and certainly don't show. "May I… Do you think I might come in?"

_Of course! _Sirius thinks. _You're my brother, you daft prat. Of course, you can come in. _

Except, of course, it's not alright. It's not alright because even though it's the dead of winter, Sirius knows that Regulus, just six-months out of Hogwarts, wears long sleeves even in summertime and he shudders to think what _Prior Incantato_ might reveal on his brother's wand.

He almost, _almost_ shuts the door again. But those eyes, his eyes, stare back at him with the kind of pain he's only ever seen once in the mirror, after sending Snivellus to that damn tree. And he knows this is real.

He takes his hand off the doorknob and toes the door open, gesturing toward the settee with his wand. Regulus pauses as he crosses the doorway and looks around nervously, like he's sneaking in somewhere he's not supposed to be and could be caught at any moment. Apparently placated by whatever he sees, or perhaps doesn't see, the younger Black moves to the settee, but doesn't sit.

Bearing none of the grace of his upbringing, Regulus fingers the worn, broken threads on the arm of the couch with pale, boney fingers. Sirius watches him carefully, but doesn't move from his place by the door, like standing there might somehow make it easier to reverse his decision and turn Regulus out if he needs to.

Silence pounds in his ears and Sirius, who always has to have the first and last word and most of the ones in between, is drowning in it, but can't seem to find his voice. And so, it's Regulus who finally speaks.

"I've made a terrible mistake," Regulus says slowly, cautiously, and it's like his very words breathe air into Sirius' lungs.

Regulus looks like he did that time when he was nine and he'd come to Sirius' room, but only stood in the doorway, head hanging, as he confessed to accidentally breaking Sirius' broom. Only, it was okay then because it was just a broom and Sirius couldn't bring it to Hogwarts when he started there in three weeks because first-years weren't allowed brooms. And, surely there'd be some better, newer model their parents would buy him by the time he could have one at school anyhow.

_So, this is the same as that,_ Sirius thinks. Except it's not at all.

Sirius nods, because he still can't find his voice. And even if he could, what would he say? _You've made so many mistakes, Reg. Which is it you're choosing to acknowledge?_

But, its fairly obvious which mistake he means when he rolls up his sleeve and Sirius finds Voldemort's brand staring back at him from the pale flesh of his brother's arm.

He knew, _knew_ it was there. But, seeing that mark on his brother's flesh, _his_ flesh, like he's cattle is too much to bear.

"You stupid fuck," Sirius breathes, unable to wrench his eyes from the sight even as the edges of his vision blur.

Regulus won't look him in the face now, but only stares at the floor making patterns in the carpet with his toes, like he did as a child when he was nervous.

"They'll kill you for coming here," Sirius says in a way that's obviously not a question.

_War is old men talking and young men dying_. Remus told Sirius that once, said it solemnly after they'd found the Prewett brothers as Peter threw-up in the bushes. Knowing Remus, Sirius is fairly sure he was quoting something, but it doesn't matter because it's true all the same. Only, now it's not the Prewetts – it's Regulus – and that's even less okay. And, he wonders if Dumbledore and Voldemort won't survive them all.

Regulus only nods and continues to toe the carpet purposefully.

"Why the hell did you come?" Sirius asks, anger seeping into his voice. Anger because they're both so, _so_ close to childhood but so very far away from being children. Anger because Regulus is standing here in his living room apologizing for breaking his broom eight years ago and also for killing muggles. Anger because Regulus is his brother, his only sibling, and don't they _know_ this? And doesn't that _matter_ to anyone but him? And how could they possibly kill him if they knew that?

"There's… some things I needed you to know," Regulus says in that quiet voice that always got him out of trouble at school, but never at home because Blacks aren't meant to be ashamed or sheepish.

"I… bloody hell, Reg. I'm not a sodding priest. If you want to confess, find a church," Sirius spits indignantly.

"No," says Regulus looking up, a bit surprised that their silent communication had not been as clear as it once was. "No, it's not that."

"Well, what is it then?" Asks Sirius a bit desperately. "And why the hell haven't you left the country yet, you idiot."

Regulus smiles a bit at this. Quiet Sirius he doesn't know how to deal with. But this he knows. This is Sirius saying _it doesn't matter what you've done, you're my brother and of course I love you and please don't die_ even if he only says it through weak insults.

"Sirius," he says, stilling his foot and looking his brother in the eye. "How much do you know about horcruxes?"


	2. Chapter 2

ii.

"Are you sure about this?" Lily asks him gently.

The truth is he's not and he almost tells her so. For the hundredth time that day, he almost, _almost_ changes his mind. But then he looks across the room to the mantle over the fireplace at a picture of the Marauders back at Hogwarts during their fifth year. It's exactly three days before The Prank and when James looks at the picture just right, he can see everything building up to that moment.

Remus is obviously tired and usually just sits next to the tree, book in hand, glancing up at the camera now and then with a weak smile. Occasionally he nods off, exhausted by the weight of the waxing moon.

Peter mostly just grins hugely and listens attentively to whatever Sirius or James is saying, waving cheerily at the camera once in a while. Sirius and James, though… Sirius and James are trouble. Oh sure, sometimes they talk to Peter or Sirius makes a grab for Remus' book, but more often than not Snape or some other Slytherin wanders through the corner of the shot and then there's a problem.

He used to think this picture was funny – a living reminder of a thousand pranks pulled throughout their boyhood years. Water balloons filled with shampoo get pelted at Snape. The head of the Slytherin house wanders through with hair charmed red and gold. It all seemed so harmless at the time. And that, of course, is exactly the problem. It doesn't seem harmless to him now, not in retrospect. Sirius, however, still finds it mostly funny.

"Yes," he tells Lily, nodding. "Yes, I'm sure."

He's lying, but it's obvious and he's mostly lying to himself, so Lily lets it be and just squeezes his hand before placing it on her slightly swelling belly. And that, _that_ is all the reassurance he needs – will ever need.

Sirius will not understand this decision. He'll be angry and hurt and he'll act like a spoilt child who's not gotten the toy he wants, but this is so much more important than Sirius' bruised ego.

"He'll get over it," Lily says confidently.

James isn't quite sure that's true. Sirius might forgive him anything, but he'll never quite get over it. He's held a grudge against Snape for "accidentally" tripping him on the platform to the Hogwarts Express as they headed to school for the first time. Nearly nine years later, that grudge has yet to show signs of fading.

But then that's exactly the point, isn't it? Sirius has never grown-up, never _will_ grow-up. He'll forever be one of those Lost Boys, living for the moment, taking risks and shirking responsibility. That's all fine and good for a best mate. It's an entirely different matter when choosing your child's godfather.

"I can't let this be about hurting Sirius' feelings," James says, brushing his wife's copper hair behind her ear.

That the role of godfather is more than just a title goes unsaid between them, but it's still hanging there thickly in the air like an ever-present fog that half-obscures everything. This is wartime, of course, and both of them are caught right in the middle of it. Lily's not gone out on missions for the Order since they learned of her pregnancy, but as a muggleborn married to a pureblood she's at the center of the conflict all the same.

The thought of his Lily as a target sends chills down James' spine. She grasps his hand again, giving it a tight squeeze, and his mind calms instantly.

She's always been able to do this, to draw his mind into the here-and-now and away from the 'what ifs' and 'should haves' that muddle his wits. She's not, by nature, an optimist, but she'll not allow anyone to wallow in the things they can't change. There are times for moments of hesitation, she's said, and those times are when we plan, not when we act. For a woman he loathes to see involved in this war, she makes one hell of a soldier.

"It's okay to question this, James," she tells him, as if reading his mind. "I know I have."

He looks up at her, surprised at this.

"But, I thought…" he starts.

She laughs delicately and it seems utterly impossible that these same twinkling eyes have seen the very worst of what wizard-kind has to offer.

"You thought I'd be happy you weren't choosing Sirius?" she asks.

"Our personalities may clash some," she admits. "He acts rashly and he's temperamental and he can be very childish at times…"

"Don't hold back, honey," James says sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. "Tell me what you really think."

She smacks his arm lightly in rebuke before continuing.

"He's as loyal a friend as they come," she smiles. "I've no doubt that he'd give up his life to save our child."

She hesitates a moment, as if there is something they've purposefully left unsaid because saying it makes it real.

He traces her wedding band with his thumb and nods for her continue.

"But," she says warily. "If something happens to us, we won't need someone to die for our child; we'll need someone to live for it. We'll need someone who can feed the baby at three in the morning and change its nappies and teach it to read."

Part of James, the part that helped Sirius add skele-gro to Snape's nasal spray potion back in second year, wants to defend his best friend, but most of him recognizes that his wife is right. Sirius is the person you want with you in a bar fight or a quiddich game. He's not the person you want as your child's guardian.

No, he's made the right choice, he decides and he's about to tell Lily this when their fireplace glows green and a familiar pudgy form plops through, landing square on his arse and covered in a fine sheen of ash and soot.

"James!" scolds Lily. "How many times have I asked you to clean out the chimney?"

James winces at her tone as he reaches out and offers a hand to their guest.

"Sorry, Pete," he says, helping his friend up and clapping him soundly on the back in greeting.

"S'alright," Peter says with a forgiving shrug and a light smile. "Your chimney is no where near as bad as Sirius'. If ever there was ever anyone who needed a house elf…"

James chuckles a bit at this, but quickly covers it with an entirely unconvincing cough as he catches Lily's steely gaze.

"Yes, well… let's not judge our home's cleanliness in comparison to the bachelor pad, hum?" Lily says, smiling with that look all women have that says _you'll fix this as soon as possible, are we in agreement?_ Only, of course, it's not actually a question. James, who – to his great fortune – decoded this particular look years ago, nods and puts his hands up in surrender.

"Speaking of the boys, aren't they here yet?" Peter asks, glancing around the room and tossing a cashew into his mouth from a small bowl on the end table.

"Actually, it's just us tonight, Pete," James tells him.

Peter stops mid-chew, his mouth still ever-so-slightly open.

"Just us?" He asks, because surely he's heard James wrong. "Did Remus and Sirius cancel or something?"

"No, I only invited you," replies James with a funny look on his face. "I thought I told you."

Peter has to force himself to finish chewing the cashew and swallow, because James has never, _ever_ in the years they've known each other only invited _him_ to do anything.

To be honest he's always felt a bit like a third-wheel (or fourth, or occasionally fifth). He's never had Sirius' easygoing nature or Remus' quiet but creative mischievous side. He's just Pete. He's the guy they always sent down to the kitchens when the pilfered treacle tart ran out. He's the guy they asked to watch their schoolbags while they raced brooms across the quiddich pitch. He's reliable, dependable and loyal, but he's not the first person anyone invites to anything.

"But… _why?_" Peter finally sputters. "Did something happen? Are you and Sirius having a row? What did he do this time?"

That funny look is back on James' face and Lily is looking at him with an odd combination of amusement and pity.

"No, Peter. We just wanted to spend some time with you… and we had an idea we wanted to run past you, too," James says, sharing a secret smile with Lily.

"It's just… you _never_ just invite _me _over," Peter says, still a bit stunned.

"Oh," James says shuffling his feet and glancing at Peter a bit sheepishly. "Well, with the baby coming and all and the wedding before that. Well, you know. We've been really busy."

Peter nearly blurts out that he doesn't just mean lately, he means _ever_, but catches himself just in time. He's not fool enough to question his luck here again. How many times had he sat behind in the common room while Sirius and James snuck out to Hogsmede because the invisibility cloak certainly couldn't have hidden three of them? How many times had he stood guard while the other three'd had the real fun executing some prank? He had no idea.

"Can I get you boys something to drink?" Lily asks, interrupting his thoughts.

"Butterbeer would be nice," Peter tells her.

"Forget butterbeer," James says, clapping Peter on the shoulder. "Let's break out that bottle of Dragon's Breath Brandy, Lils."

"You would want to drink that when I'm pregnant and can't have any alcohol," Lily says rolling her eyes, but she's already on her way to get it anyhow.

James studies Peter for a moment like he's not sure what to say next and Peter is all too aware of the scrutiny. The smaller man looks wholly uncomfortable in his own skin, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, eyes darting around the room aimlessly.

"You know, Pete," James says slowly, sitting down and gesturing for Peter to do the same. "I can count the number of people in the world that I truly trust on my fingers and still have enough left to make a rude gesture."

Peter bristles suddenly, extremely nervous of where this conversation is headed. He hasn't even _done_ anything yet. He's only agreed to talk with some people and surely that can't be a crime. And even if it is, how could James _possibly_ know about it?

"These are dangerous times," Peter agrees non-committally.

Apparently he's said the right thing, he realizes, relaxing as a big smile takes over James' face.

"Yes," James says. "They are."

James has never been able to sit still for long and so it doesn't surprise Peter at all when James stands up and starts pacing in front of the fireplace like a caged animal.

"You know, people said we were nuts when Lily and I announced we were going to have a baby," James tells him. "They said we were foolish to take that kind of a risk with a war on."

"Let them mind their own business," Peter scoffs. "If they want to let You-Know-Who put their lives on hold, that's up to them."

"Exactly!" James says, eyes twinkling with delight that Peter understands where he's coming from, which is, of course, exactly why Peter said what he'd said in the first place. "But, you see, that doesn't mean we can be totally unprepared for possible consequences."

At this point, Peter has no idea what James is getting at, so he just makes agreeable noises and nods appropriately while his brain works overtime trying to connect the dots. Lily comes back into the room with two glasses of Dragon's Breath Brandy for them and sits where James had been perched on the settee moments before.

"The thing of it is, Peter," James says, glancing at Lily for reassurance. "Lily and I know there's a chance that something could happen to us. And we want to make sure our child will be okay if we aren't around to take care of it."

"Plan for the worst. Hope for the best," Peter agrees.

"Right!" James says excitedly. "That's why we wanted to ask you to be our child's godfather."

There is dead silence for a long moment in the room and Peter very nearly drops his brandy. His jaw hangs loose and his eyes bug out, looking back and forth between Lily and James.

"You… You want _me_ to be your child's godfather?" Peter asks, suddenly looking around the room as though he expects Sirius to pop out and say _AH HA! Got you!_ because surely this is a joke, a prank. _Obviously_ Sirius is meant to be James' child's godfather.

"You don't have to answer right away," James tells him, totally misreading Peter's disbelief. "Take some time to think about it."

"But… what about Sirius?" Peter asks stunned.

"What about him?" James asks, no longer pacing and suddenly a bit defensive.

"Well, he's your best mate, isn't he? Why would you choose me?" Peter asks.

James winces almost imperceptibly at this.

"We're all mates, Peter. You know that. We're marauders," James says, sidestepping the question.

"But Sirius is _Sirius_ and I'm just me!" Peter insists.

Lily laughs a bit at this and smiles kindly at his confused glance.

"Sirius is a good friend and a good man," Lily says. "And if you say no to this, which we would completely understand, we'll probably ask him. But Peter, this is something we trust you with."

"You're a good man and a good friend, too, Peter," James tells him. "But you're also level-headed and reliable where Sirius is… not. We trust you to keep your head on straight and do what you have to in order to keep our child safe, if anything happens to us."

Peter very suddenly wants to cry, which is stupid because he hasn't cried since fourth-year when his grandmother died, but this is something that really gets to him. For the nine years he's known James, all Peter has ever wanted, ever needed from his friend was acceptance as an equal. And after all this time he finally, _finally_ has it.

This isn't just James asking him to distract their potions professor while he and Sirius slip some belladonna root into the dreamless sleep potion brewing. It isn't even like James and Sirius and him deciding to become animagi for Remus. No, this is James picking _him_ over everyone else. This is James asking him to be part of his _family_ and not asking Sirius or Remus.

A huge grin breaks out over Peter's face and his ego swells with pride for the first time in a long time. He is needed and accepted and special and it feels so much better than he'd ever thought it would.

"I don't need to think about it. I'd be honored to be your child's godfather," he says with an air of confidence he's never possessed before.

James claps him on the back in a kind of half-hug like quiddich players after winning a game, like _teammates_. And Lily comes up and hugs him full on, kissing him on the cheek.

"I knew I could count on you, mate," James tells him with a lopsided grin as he pushes his glasses back up his nose.

"Can you stay for dinner, Peter?" Lily asks him.

"Oh," Peter says quietly thinking about what he was _supposed_ to do tonight. But suddenly this is so much more important and he doesn't really remember why he was going to do that other thing anyhow.

"Well, I was supposed to meet some co-workers… to talk about this… extra project," he says vaguely. "But, I don't think I'm going to do it, now. It would probably take up too much time and I want to be here for my godchild. So, yes. I'll stay."


	3. Chapter 3

iii.

It's ridiculously cold and wet for March. Remus' 20th birthday ended about four hours ago and Sirius rather thinks this means the whole lot of them should be three-sheets to the wind by now or, at the very least, with the beginnings of some horrific hangovers. But, as Dumbledore so tactfully reminded him, Voldemort doesn't put the war on pause for the birthdays of Order members. So, Sirius and Remus have spent the better part of the evening and early morning outside Malfoy Manor, hoping their concealment charms will hold up.

"Stupid James," Sirius mutters.

"What are you on about?" Remus questions, keeping his voice unnecessarily low.

"Well, Lily _is_ the best of us at charms, isn't she?" Sirius over-pronounces as though his previous assertion should have been immediately recognized as Truth and backed up.

"'Course she is," Remus replies. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Sirius rolls his eyes. "If James hadn't gone and gotten her knocked up then she could have done these damn concealment charms and we wouldn't have to be renewing them every half hour, now would we?"

Remus shakes his head and gives Sirius a look that clearly says _you're off your rocker, mate._

"Stupid James," Sirius says again sullenly, thudding his head against the wall behind him and digging at pebbles with his toes.

Sirius is clearly bored, which does not bode well for Remus' immediate future. There's some kind of Death Eater gathering at Malfoy Manor and they're meant to be spying on it as much as possible from the outside. But, there are charms on the windows blocking them from seeing or hearing anything going on, so they've been relegated to attempting to catch sight of and identify anyone heading into or out of the building. They've yet to see anyone leave and it's been four hours since anyone entered the place. Remus is actually a bit amazed that Sirius has been able to sit still this long.

"This is pointless," Sirius grumbles, going cross-eyed as he tries to focus on a bit of fringe hanging between his eyes. "Why can't they do these bloody things during the day?"

"Well Padfoot, I'd assume they have jobs just like we do," Remus replies patiently.

Sirius blows the fringe from between his eyes and turns his gaze to Remus, mostly ignoring his friend's point.

"We can't see anything," he continues as though uninterrupted. "We can't even hear anything. We run the risk of being found out. A bloody muggle video camera could do a better job of this than we could!"

Remus wants to find some way to argue the point, if only because it will keep Sirius occupied and therefore bearable slightly longer, but he actually rather agrees with him.

"How was Dumbledore to know we'd not be able to get past their charms without detection? Lily and Dorcas didn't have any problems with it last November," Remus points out, immediately realizing his mistake.

"Stupid James. _Of course_ Lily could get past it. She's aces at charms!" Sirius proclaims exasperatedly.

Sirius might be one of his very best friends, but he's also absolutely the most annoying person in the world when he's bored and Remus is just about to inform the sulking man of this when the door to Malfoy Manor opens.

They're both stupidly quiet all the sudden, even though with their concealment charm up they could likely scream at the top of their lungs and not be heard. But, all things considered, it's rather understandable since the woman leaving the house is the last person they'd expect to see out in the cold rain at four in the morning.

Even very heavily pregnant and strolling through mud before dawn, Narcissa Malfoy looks the part of the ice queen she is. She sort of glides over the puddles rather than sloshing through them like _some_ of her relatives. Or rather one of them. Or rather Sirius.

Narcissa has either put up some sort of a charm to prevent the water from hitting her, or the raindrops themselves know better than to approach the pureblooded witch. Remus assumes the former. Sirius silently suspects the latter.

But the really surprising thing isn't that Narcissa seems to be taking a pre-dawn stroll on a muddy March morning. The really surprising thing is that she's headed straight for them with a sly smile splayed across her face.

Neither one of them so much as breathes when Narcissa stops two feet in front of them and looks across where she obviously must know they are. She pauses, seemingly for dramatic effect, her head held high in an absurdly aristocratic pose. When she finally speaks, her voice is saccharine – honey masking something vile.

"Extend your concealment charm around me," she pronounces in sing-song tones. "Or I'll tell them all exactly where you are, starting with my husband."

Sirius stares at his cousin dumbly and for a moment Remus has the truly inappropriate thought that someone _finally_ managed to make Sirius speechless and wouldn't James be sorry he missed this? Only, of course, they've just been found out by a Death Eater and so – no, James wouldn't be sorry he missed this. Or maybe he would, but only because he's been itching for a good fight since, pregnant wife or not, one can only take just so many midnight runs to the store for peanut butter and tuna fish before going absolutely barmy.

"It's impolite to keep a lady waiting," Narcissa hisses, the honey melting from her voice.

Remus looks to Sirius, who looks back and grins in that daring way that used to mean they'd all end up in detention for a week writing "_I will not charm the school owls to drop dungbombs on the Slytherin table at lunch_" on the boards. These days, of course, the stakes are slightly higher. But, this is something _interesting_ and Sirius has been on the verge of terminal boredom, so the stupefied look of curiosity on Sirius' face is both expected and slightly terrifying.

For a second, Remus almost, _almost_ tells Sirius to stop and think. He _almost_ suggests they apparate away and leave Narcissa to the cold morning rain. It would have been the safer thing to do, to be sure. But, for whatever reason, out of curiosity or boredom or tired reflexes, Remus holds his tongue and only watches as their protective wall of not-quite translucent light encompasses Narcissa.

"I should have known," she sighs, taking in the two men standing on her lawn. "My cousin and his… lapdog."

Remus bristles at the inference, but keeps quiet even knowing that Sirius won't.

They've had her at wandpoint since shortly after she exited the Manor, but the look on Sirius' face didn't turn threatening until now.

"Don't be stupid, cousin," he hisses at her. "Whatever you _think_ you know, you're wrong."

"Manners, Sirius," she smiles cruelly. "I know Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion taught you better than that. Does Dumbledore not demand more civility from his _pets_?"

"Pot, meet kettle," Sirius scoffs, then grins stupidly at his inadvertent pun. They are, after all, both a Black. "Tell me, Narcissa… do Death Eaters get maternity leave?"

"_I'm_ not a Death Eater," she replies haughtily, and for the first time Remus realizes her gown is sleeveless and her arms bear no sign of garish black ink.

Sirius eyes her warily.

"As good as, then," he finally concludes. "Don't try to tell me that you've developed a tolerance toward muggle-borns and half-bloods. I've heard you preaching the party line."

"It's true," she replies with the arch of a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "I've no love for those with… diluted magic. But, I'm no man's servant."

"What do you want? A medal?" Sirius asks belittlingly. "Congratulations. You're not a Death Eater. You're your very own brand of prejudiced extremist. I wonder if your child will follow you or its father?"

Narcissa twitches angrily at that and the thin veneer she so carefully holds in place at all times shows signs of cracking.

"My _son_ will _never_ serve another. Malfoys are their own masters," she says regally. "And so are Blacks."

Something about the situation gives Sirius pause. He eyes her carefully, as if seeing her for the first time. Even evil and nine-months pregnant, she's stunning. But then, the Blacks are a notoriously good-looking lot, he thinks, reflecting briefly on Andromeda, Bellatrix and Regulus – all providing ample evidence of the ups and downs of belonging to his incestuous family: high cheekbones, flawless skin and varying degrees of sanity.

"Why are you here, Narcissa?" He asks, suddenly realizing he has no idea what she's really up to.

She's very, very quiet for a moment, eyes flickering from Sirius to Remus. The air around her shifts, like a glamour being removed, and she briefly looks like the nervous 24-year-old mother-to-be that she really is. As quickly as the illusion fades, though, its back.

"I've no problem with the _cause_ the Death Eaters pursue," she says unapologetically. "But I _do_ have a problem with our noble houses groveling like _dogs_ in _heat, begging_ for scraps of approvalI have a problem with my husband and my sister _kneeling. _Malfoys and Blacks aren't meant to _bow_ before _anyone._"

Sirius is still staring at her like he's got no idea what she's trying to say, but something clicks into place for Remus and he just stares at her bewildered for a moment.

"_You_ want to help _us_?" he asks dubiously.

She obviously loathes to admit it, but the hesitant look on her face followed by a curt nod leave no room for question as to her intent. And its then that Sirius bursts out laughing.

"You? _You_ want to help defeat _Lord Voldemort_?" Sirius questions incredulously.

Remus is making wild gestures behind Narcissa's back for Sirius to _please, oh god, please stop taunting the Death Eater's wife_. But Sirius isn't paying any attention to his friend at the moment.

Before she speaks again, Narcissa looks entirely too cool and collected given the situation. And, it frightens Remus in no small amount to realize she's relishing this moment – that she's positively _looking forward_ to whatever she's about to say next.

"Do you _know_ why you've not seen anyone leaving my home tonight?" She asks with an air of adopted innocence. "Do you _know_ how I knew you were here?"

Sirius stops laughing and Narcissa pauses just a beat too long as she cups her hand lightly against her cousin's jaw in a mocking gesture of affection.

"You've got a spy in your ranks," she finally says. "And I know who it is."


	4. Chapter 4

iv.

It's been two days since St. Patrick's Day and last Remus heard, Sirius was still hung-over.

Ever a lover of any holiday featuring presents, liquor or pranks, Sirius had dragged the boys to a Muggle Irish pub called McMilligan's. With an almost comical amount of charisma, Sirius strode into the pub wearing a garish pin charmed to flash the words "Kiss me! I'm Irish!" whenever a woman walked by. Between the pin and what may have been the worst pick-up line in the history of bad pick-up lines – "Have you got some Irish in you, love? Would you like some?" – he'd found a ridiculous amount of success, disappearing at one point for nearly an hour with a blonde who may or may not have been of age.

Remus was quite certain that had he (or any other man on the planet who was not Sirius Black) attempted such a line he'd have ended up with a pint of ale thrown in his face. But Sirius, oh Sirius earned himself more than a few throaty chuckles and playful shoves on the shoulder accompanied by a phone number hastily scrawled onto a napkin or coaster. Not that Sirius had any idea what a phone was.

Of course, the fact that Sirius was more than able to trace his family history back seven centuries and he was not, in any way, Irish, hadn't mattered so much to him or apparently any of the ladies he'd chatted up.

By the time the four of them had stumbled back to Godric's Hollow - Sirius and James belting out ridiculously bawdy limericks all the while - it had been just shy of three a.m. and one would have been hard pressed to decide if Lily was more angry or relieved at their appearance. But, anger obviously won out once seven-month-old Harry started crying in the nursery.

Lily, being the brilliant witch she was, had conjured each of them a glass of water, handed them all vials of Dropsy's Draught of Drunken Debauchery Detox potion and pointed them toward the guest rooms… all of them. James had not been thrilled.

If it had still been their Hogwarts days, it would have taken half an hour and nearly an entire bag of Everlasting Itching Powder to have Sirius out of bed before noon the next morning. This was why Remus, James and Peter had been utterly floored to wake up at nine a.m. and find Sirius already gone. If that hadn't been strange enough, their normally irresponsible friend had left them a note to assure them everything was fine.

Ironically, it was the note more than anything that had raised Remus' suspicions to new heights.

For the past few months, Sirius had been acting decidedly strangely. He was often cagey about where he'd been earlier in the day or he begged off spur-of-the-moment outings that he used to be the one planning. James had been too wrapped up in baby Harry to really pay much notice to Sirius' change in behavior. But Remus… Remus noticed.

This is why, two days after St. Patrick's Day with no word from Sirius other than a quick Floo call earlier in the day begging off dinner plans, Remus is less shocked than he ought to be when he sees his friend covertly speaking with Narcissa Malfoy in Knockturn Alley beside Borgin & Burkes.

He's actually not sure that it's them at first and it is Narcissa that first captures his eye, her flaxen hair and cool blue eyes barely visible under the hood of a fine black cloak. Even after acknowledging that it is, in fact, Narcissa he's looking at, it takes a few seconds for Sirius' identity to register with him. Had Regulus not been dead now more than a year, Remus would have assumed it was him, for the man is not smiling, not laughing. His stormy gray eyes hold no hint of amusement in them. No, this is not the Sirius he knows.

But then the black-haired man smirks at Narcissa and his identity is unmistakable.

Remus watches silently from the main thoroughfare, tipping his hat low and flipping through a copy of the Daily Prophet in what he hopes is a covert manner. There's a reason the Order usually has him researching rather than working stake-outs.

Sirius hands Narcissa what appears to be an empty vial and the woman looks her cousin dead in the eye as she slices open her own hand with an ornate dagger and squeezes her fist over the container. When the vial is filled with her blood, she stoppers it and hands it back to Sirius.

There are a great many spells and potions that require human blood, Remus knows. All of them are illegal.

Remus' mind races, searching futilely for any explanation that doesn't involved Sirius falling back on the Dark Arts of his upbringing. But there is nothing, nothing he can think of that can explain why Sirius Black is in a dingy part of Knockturn Alley with a vial of Narcissa Malfoy's blood in his right pocket.

Narcissa turns suddenly from Sirius. Remus cannot hear her parting words, but from the sneer on her face he's sure they are some sort of threat. He realizes, quite suddenly, that Narcissa is headed his way. She will probably recognize him if she sees him, he knows. The Marauders had certainly pulled enough pranks on her back when they were naïve third-years and she'd been Head Girl.

Remus turns quickly and heads back into Diagon Alley in the general direction of Florish & Blotts. He's so caught up in making himself walk at a normal pace that he doesn't seem to notice any of his fellow shoppers until he literally walks right into one.

"Oh, so sorry… Remus?" asks a woman's voice with a faint Greek accent.

Remus is so stunned for a moment that he just blinks back at the olive-skinned witch in front of him.

"Are you all right?" she asks, laughing slightly.

"Ah… yes. Hello, Dorcas. I'm fine," he says finally. "I'm so sorry. I suppose I was a bit in my own world there for a moment."

"I guess we both were," she chuckles and smiles sympathetically. "Head's in the clouds today, I'm afraid. I've so much to do before… going to do that favor for the old man later."

It is poorly concealed code, of course, for pointing out she has a mission for the Order planned this evening. And it is only after she mentions this that he remembers what her mission is.

"That favor, you've got someone helping you on that, don't you?" he asks her.

"One of your partners in crime back at Hogwarts," she nods her head in ascent. "I shall never forget the time in my seventh-year when the two of you replaced the whole of Slytherin's ink pots with disappearing ink after _someone_ in Slytherin fed a certain Gryffindor's homework to the giant squid."

It had been Snape who'd thrown James' homework to the giant squid back in their sixth year. After foregoing his wand entirely and electing to pound Snape Muggle-style, James had served three weeks detention while Snape had only gotten one. Remus and Sirius had taken particular offense to the wholly unjust distribution of punishment and had avenged the great wrong against Gryffindor by ensuring absolutely every piece of Slytherin homework turned in the next day went totally blank as soon as the professor touched it.

In short, Dorcas had a mission for the Order with Sirius tonight. Had he not just seen Sirius in highly suspicious circumstances, Remus would have chuckled to himself at his friend's good luck and bid Dorcas a good day. It was often said, only half jokingly, that Dorcas Meadows was drop-dead gorgeous. She's a brilliant duelist, but quite literally killed every plant in herbology and every animal in care of magical creatures that she'd been assigned. She's also one of the few women to ever turn down Sirius, which of course spurred him to try harder.

"It's not _that_ bad," she says, misconstruing the look of worry on Remus' face. "He'll behave himself while we're out. It's once we're done that he'll try to turn on the charm."

Remus flashes a wholly unconvincing smile at her and nods. Most blood rituals, spells and potions had to be completed while the blood is still fresh. Was Sirius planning something for tonight? Was Dorcas in danger?

"Remus, are you sure you're all right? Do you want to go somewhere and talk?" she asks concernedly.

"I'm afraid I'm a terrible conversationalist today, Dorcas," he says apologetically. "Forgive me. Best of luck on your errands today. I have to speak with that friend of mine about something before you steal him away for the evening."

"Of course," she says curiously. "I'll see you next week, I suppose?"

He nods and gives her a small wave as he heads to the Leaky Cauldron to Floo over to Sirius' flat. Even after having seen Sirius with Narcissa, Remus hadn't been going to confront his friend about his suspicions, not yet. He'd almost, _almost_ decided to keep an eye on him and watch for anything else that would back up what he'd seen so far. But after having seen Dorcas, how can he knowingly put her life in danger by letting her walk into a potential trap? Quite simply, he can't.

Sirius isn't back yet by the time Remus Floos into his friend's flat. The place is a mess, as usual, with everything from dirty laundry to old coffee cups strewn across the living room. It's like their dorm at Hogwarts all over again, only James' Quidditch gear isn't intermixed with Sirius' dirty socks and empty takeaway cartons. For a full fifteen seconds, Remus is tempted to clean until he remembers precisely why he's here and what an opportunity this is.

Sirius' desk is no cleaner than the rest of his flat. Several parchments are sticking together with what looks to be peanut butter as an accidental adhesive and there's a lacy pair of women's underwear hanging from a well-burned candle. Remus grimaces at the mess, but digs through the parchments anyhow, looking for something, anything that will confirm or deny his suspicions.

"What the hell are you doing?" comes a slightly annoyed and very curious voice.

Remus has the grace not to jump, but turns around a bit too quickly to be nonchalant and raises an eyebrow at Sirius, who is still dusting Floo powder from his robes.

"I think perhaps you've a friend who left something here," Remus says, gesturing to the underwear. "Unless there's something you're not telling us, Padfoot?"

"Ha, bloody, ha," Sirius says rolling his eyes. "So you've come over to check up on the cleanliness of my flat, have you?"

"No," says Remus. "I've come over to check up on the health of my good friend, the lush who apparently mistook St. Patrick's _Day_ for St. Patrick's _Week_. But it seems to me you're doing much better since last I heard from you."

Sirius is still looking at him guardedly, but has apparently bought Remus' explanation at least in part because the flat-out suspicion in his eyes has lessened considerably.

"Yes," says Sirius. "I'm much better now, thanks."

"Amazing Lily's potion didn't do the trick for you," Remus comments casually. "Even James was feeling better by morning and you know how _his_ tolerance is."

Sirius just shrugs, saying nothing, which is unusual in and of itself.

"Where were you out just now?" Remus asks.

Sirius freezes and stares Remus flat in the eye, that suspicion and a bit of fear creeping back into his gaze.

"Met up with Dorcas about tonight's mission," he says. "Order business, you know."

This is, of course, the very worst lie Sirius could have chosen.

"Really?" Remus asks, trying to sound casual because _oh God_ this is exactly what he knew would happen. "I ran into her at Florish & Blotts not twenty minutes ago."

"Must have just missed each other then," Sirius says coldly.

"Must have," Remus agrees in that way that clearly isn't actually agreeing.

"Well, I've a lot to do before tonight," says Sirius in a biting tone. "But thanks for stopping by to check up on me."

"What were you doing in Knockturn Alley with Narcissa, Sirius?" Remus finally asks.

Sirius goes ten shades of pale and his eyes turn hard.

"Spying on me, were you?" Sirius asks.

"Happened upon the situation by chance, actually," Remus replies.

"And what, pray tell, brought _you_ to Knockturn Alley, Remus?" Sirius spits at him.

"Funny how you answered my question with a question," Remus observes.

"Funny how you sidestepped mine entirely," Sirius counters.

The two are circling around each other now, like pack mates vying for the role of alpha. Both are ready to strike, ready to draw blood until there is a clear victor.

"She gave you a vial of her blood," Remus says finally. "I saw it."

"You saw _nothing_," Sirius hisses at his friend, grabbing him by his lapels.

"What are you hiding?" Remus demands.

"What am I hiding?" Sirius asks incredulously, shoving his friend a bit. "Me? You dare ask _me_ that? Where the hell are you on full moon nights these days, _Moony_?"

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Remus asks, honestly confused for the first time in this conversation.

"Don't think we haven't noticed, all of us," Sirius argues, his eyes alight with anger and passion. "You tell us not to come. Hell we don't know where you even are. Why is that, hum? What's going on that you don't want us there?"

Suddenly, it all makes sense to Remus, like puzzle pieces shifting _just so_ until you can make out the picture clearly for the first time. And it's all so stupid that he finds himself laughing in spite of the harshness of their situation.

"You think it's me," he laughs. "You think I'm off with the ferals or something, do you? Think I'm out slaughtering muggleborns, huh?"

"Well what the hell am I supposed to think, Moony?" Sirius demands.

"Well, not that!" Remus exclaims, still laughing, though it's clearly not funny. "Honestly, Sirius… we've known each other how long and you think I'm capable of that? I can't decide if I'm more disappointed or insulted, though I suppose both apply."

"Then enlighten me, Remus," Sirius says in a voice that's hopeful for the first time in their entire conversation. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd all get upset and defensive, though I suppose that's less of an issue now since you apparently think I'm a Death Eater spy," Remus says wryly. "I was _volunteered_ by the Ministry to serve as a test subject for a new potion to help werewolves control themselves during the full moon. The first few months were… distinctly unpleasant… but they've actually made quite a bit of progress now. Even if they gave me a choice, I think I'd continue with it at this point."

Sirius looks a bit dumbstruck at this. Whatever he'd been expecting, this clearly wasn't it.

"A test subject for a potion for werewolves for the Ministry?" Sirius asks mutely.

"Yes," Remus confirms. "They're calling it Wolfsbane Potion."

"And you didn't tell us because you didn't want us to get defensive?" Sirius repeats.

"If you'd seen what it was like at the start, you and James and Peter would have stormed the Ministry demanding equal rights or some rubbish," Remus tells him solemnly. "Last thing I wanted was for the three of you to go off half-cocked and land yourselves in trouble."

Sirius is still looking at him dubiously, like he wants to believe him, but doesn't quite.

"You can ask Dumbledore, if you want," Remus tells him. "Or write the Ministry, if you prefer. It's a matter of public record."

A sly smile finally graces Sirius' picture-perfect face and the taller man chuckles a bit, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Damn, I'm sorry, Moony," Sirius tells him.

"No, I suppose it did look a bit suspicious now that I think about it," Remus admits. "Can't say as I would have expected you three to jump to the worst possible conclusion, though."

Sirius winces a bit at this because Remus has always had trust issues and this clearly will have long-lasting impacts on their friendship.

"Never mind that for now," Remus sighs. "But I do want an explanation for Narcissa and the blood."

Sirius looks hesitant, even knowing now that Remus is fully on the side of the Order.

"You have to swear to me you're not going to tell anyone about this conversation," Sirius orders. "I mean it. Not even James."

"Assuming your intentions are innocent, you've got my word," Remus nods.

Sirius weighs the conditional agreement for a moment before apparently deciding it's good enough.

"I've very little family I care to claim as my own," Sirius says cautiously.

"You can't _possibly_ tell me Narcissa is one of them," Remus says dryly.

"Well of course not," Sirius says rolling his eyes. "Do you want an explanation or not?"

Remus nods and gestures for him to continue.

"Right then… I have very little family I care to claim as my own. Those I do care about are rather in the same boat as me, disowned, disgraced, black sheep of the Black family," he says with a grand gesture waving about the air.

"The thing of it is," he continues. "I can protect myself, but I know the disowned Blacks are all targets and I'll be damned if I'm going to sit back and let them have the few good ones left."

Remus wracks his memory for a moment trying to see where this is leading, but the only other disowned Black he can think of at the moment is Sirius' Uncle Alphard who died three years prior.

"My cousin Andromeda married a muggleborn. They've got an eight-year-old daughter," Sirius says. "You can't even begin to imagine how much the Death Eaters want to make an example of them. A wayward Black and her half-blood child."

"What's this got to do with the blood and Narcissa?" Remus asks, though it's starting to make a bit of sense, at least in the sort of way that Sirius tends to think.

"To Narcissa, blood is everything," Sirius says rolling his eyes.

"Well of course," Remus snorts. "She's a Death Eater, that kind of goes with the territory."

"No," Sirius says shaking his head. "You misunderstand. _Blood_ is everything to her. She doesn't give a damn about who's blasted off the family tree. Black blood is Black blood to her, even her half-blood niece."

"You're doing a protection spell," Remus says finally. "Something to keep Andromeda and her daughter safe."

Sirius nods, his eyes openly appraising his friend, looking for any sign he might bolt and spill the secret.

"Cruor Tutela. It requires the blood of two relatives, a male and a female," Sirius tells him. "It binds their lives to us. Anything cast on them will drain our magic and our lives in equal measure. Even the killing curse, it would take three to kill any one of the Tonkses and it would take Narcissa and I out with it."

"That's illegal," Remus reminds him. "Not to mention extremely dangerous."

"It will protect them," Sirius says. "That's what matters. I'm there as often as I can be. But, Bellatrix already tried to take Nymphadora once. I can't be there all the time and with a spy in the Order…"

"…You don't want the spy to know they're protected so you can't ask for the Order's help," Remus finishes for him.

"Yeah," Sirius agrees.

"I'm sorry for doubting you," Remus says shaking his head.

"S'alright," Sirius shrugs. "I guess it looked pretty bad from where you were standing."

"It did," Remus agrees. "And Peter and I had both noticed you were acting suspicious lately. Neither one of us wanted to be the first to admit it, but we both thought you might be the spy. James didn't say anything, but he's been so busy with the baby that he's been a bit preoccupied."

"Wait," Sirius says suddenly, his thought process clearly visible upon his face. "Peter told you he thought I might be the spy?"

"Yeah," Remus says grimacing a bit. "I'll let him know it's not you. I mean, I won't tell him what's actually going on of course, but…"

"Peter told me he though _you_ were the spy," Sirius suddenly blurts out.

Remus stands there a moment, his mouth agape as a grim realization settles upon him. Peter had begged off quite a few outings lately, too. Claimed he had a girlfriend, but never had introduced them to her. _Oh God_, Peter – little, stupid, gullible _Peter_ had known all about the mission they'd lost Caradoc Dearborn on. He'd been partnered with Benjy Fenwick on that mission where he'd _miraculously_ escaped, but they'd only ever found _pieces _of poor Benjy.

From the look on Sirius' face, it seems as though he's reached the same disagreeable conclusion.

"Come on, Remus," Sirius says, as somber as Remus has ever seen him. "I think it's time we had a chat with Dumbledore."

**

* * *

**

**A/N - **I hope to post the last in this story (or series, however you choose to view it) in about a week. The spell Sirius mentioned is obviously something I made up. Cruor Tutela is Latin for blood protection.


	5. Chapter 5

v.

It's well past dusk and Lily's feet are wretchedly sore by the time she trudges back toward the common room, looking forward to a hot bath and her warm bed.

The sharp, steady _clapclapclap _of her Mary Janes echo down the deserted corridor in a forced rhythm that speaks of irritation. Being Head Girl was supposed to be a huge honor. Lily remembers being speechlessly overjoyed when her letter came and that badge fell into her hand, shiny and new. After all, with the way things are going right now, Muggle-borns will need every edge they can get in the magical world. Lily's not naïve enough to think a Hogwarts education alone is enough to win her a job over a pureblood these days.

But then she found out that Potter was to be Head Boy. It had started out all right actually, better than she'd expected. He'd taken it more seriously than she'd thought he would, but he _was_ still Potter. So, when _someone_ had used a sticking charm to adhere the Slytherins to their table at lunch and transfigured the pumpkin juice pitchers into jarveys, she hadn't been horribly surprised that he didn't show for their rounds that evening.

The boys hadn't exactly been subtle about their prank. Black had shouted over the din that if the Slytherins wanted to trash talk, they should take some lessons from their betters. Potter had smirked and given his friend a high-five before spotting her glaring at him angrily and ruffling his hair in a falsely demure fashion. Honestly! _Boys. _They've probably earned themselves at least a week's detention and she'll have to go about Head duties on her own.

It's got to be half-eleven by the time she wearily bids the fat lady hello and stumbles into the common room. It's well past curfew on a Thursday evening, so she doesn't expect anyone to be there. In fact, if the firelight hadn't reflected off his glasses _just so_ she might not have ever seen him at all.

"Potter!" she says angrily. "What do you think you're doing? Too good for rounds are you?"

He jumps and turns in her direction, but looks right through her like she's some sort of apparition, only half-existing in the same space as him. He rubs at his red-rimmed eyes to bring the world into focus or surreptitiously wipe away tears or both. And he looks back at her with something like recognition written on his face, blinking owlishly a few times in quick succession.

"I'm sorry, Evans," he says in a quiet broken voice she's never heard trip forth from Potter's lips before. "Wasn't feeling so well. Won't happen again. Promise."

Lily stares at him dumbfounded a moment, because this isn't the James Potter she's known for six years and she's not quite sure what to do with that. Theirs have been a set course of interactions since the day they met. He pulled her pigtails on the train to Hogwarts the first time. He pulled his first prank on her by slipping sneezing potion into her pumpkin juice. He passed her notes in second year just to get them both in detention together. Third year, he "liberated" a broom from the storage shed to spy through her window. He's asked her to Hogsmeade dozens of times, each time in a more extravagant and humiliating way than the last. They've been the same, their interactions, for six years. He jokes and teases; she pulls away. So, even though he's not sticking to the script now, she almost, _almost_ plays her usual part anyhow.

"Are you feeling better now, then?" she asks hesitantly, folding her arms across her chest defensively, as though this is all the start to a brilliant prank. "Do you need me to get Madame Pomfrey or anything?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it. I'm fine," he says, but the words fall from his lips like a string of pearls – lies, each of them, choked out in linear fashion.

He's turned back to the fire and the light plays off his glasses in rich hues of orange and yellow, flames licking his thick frames as though they mean to devour his sight completely. For the first time in six years, James Potter is in a room alone with Lily Evans and paying her no attention. There is no banter, no inept flirting or boyish pranks and Lily finds the moment broken because of it. Is this, perhaps, what it will always be like after Hogwarts – adult politeness with thin concern and half-sincere reassurances? It's a frightening thought to her, nearly as frightening as the thought that she'll miss this, miss him, after they're done with school.

So Lily, who does nothing on impulse and everything in orderly, logical fashion, breaks the norm. She bites her lip and tucks her hair behind one ear and stands next to him, both facing the fire in joined solitude.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, James?" she asks after a moment.

He looks at her suddenly, as if surprised she's still there, and his face is hard and somehow fragmented in a way she's never seen before.

"Lily?" he asks blearily, like he's not really sure what's going on.

"Yeah," she says grabbing his hand in jolting fashion and vowing silently that if this is some elaborate prank, he will pay dearly.

"They cast spells, you know," he says solemnly, "on the fire logs. One to eliminate smoke. One to keep it bright. One to keep sparks from flying off and starting a bigger fire."

Lily did, in fact, know this. As a muggleborn she'd been horrified to see that fires were left unattended virtually everywhere in the wizarding world. It had taken McGonagall a good fifteen minutes of explaining all the safety procedures before she'd allowed herself to sleep her first night at Hogwarts.

"It's a swish and flick," James said vacantly. "The one for the smoke, that is. Did you know, if you flick and swish instead, it's an entirely different spell? Incantation's the same."

Lily did not, in fact, know _this_. So she shook her head and waited ever-patiently for the point.

"Transfigures the wood to Ashendrake. It's poisonous when it burns. That's where Ashendrake Syndrome comes from, breaks down the organs from the inside out. Usually… it usually just takes a few hours. But Ashendrake doesn't look like regular wood, see. So, if someone in the factory does a flick swish instead of a swish flick, they catch it and transfigure it back," he tells her and suddenly his eyes are holding her gaze fiercely and his voice is steadily gaining in urgency.

"That's… very interesting, James," she replies, swallowing hard. She's unnerved by the look in his eyes, but senses this is important and she doesn't break his gaze.

"Only… only this guy in the factory, he did a flick swish but he only half hit the wood, so the inspectors, they didn't see it because it didn't _look_ like Ashendrake. So, they say it wasn't really their fault… just a big mistake," James said solemnly, nodding his head so intensely she was sure his glasses would fall straight off.

Lily's breath catches in her throat as his words catch up with her and she begins to see the larger picture at hand.

"James," she says in a voice far calmer than she feels as she strokes the back of his hand supportively. "Who got the Ashendrake?"

"My parents," he says in a dead voice, looking back at the fireplace in front of them like some sort of answers might be hiding in the charred remains or smoldering embers or the fire itself. "And Kelsey, my dog… she's an English setter, you know. Good dog. Never chews on the furniture."

Lily's hand starts to shake but she grips his hand tighter and chokes back a sob as he rambles on aimlessly.

"Didn't take long, they said. Two hours maybe. Two hours for your lungs to disintegrate. That's the first to go, they said. Don't know how they know that. Doesn't sound fast, though, does it? They said it was fast. They also said it was no one's fault, just an accident. I don't think I believe that either," James says solidly, finally gripping her hand in return.

Lily stands there stunned for a moment before she tugs his hand firmly, leading him toward the settee and away from the fire, which is – she thinks – the last thing he should be looking at right now.

She doesn't say she's sorry or ask if there's anything she can do. She's already doing everything she can for him by being there with him and she knows that, knows it all too well. She can still see the Constables at the door when she was ten, their hats in their hands and a supportive hand on her dad's shoulder as she watched her father cry for the first time in her life. She still hears Petunia's shrill voice echoing in her ears last year as the machine hooked up to her father's body gave a flat steady hum instead of the rhythmic beat it was supposed to.

"_What good is your bloody magic if you can't fix this?" _Petunia had demanded. _"What good is it if you can change the color of your dress and dally around on broomsticks but you can't even cure cancer?"_

So Lily sits with him, side-by-side, and watches as she traces the veins on his hands over and over again. She tries to remember if in the six years of having known James Potter, she's ever touched him. She doesn't think she has. He's rather been a monster and a bully in her head for ages, but Lily wonders now if maybe that's not right because he cries like she did and his hands are rough and shaky and just as human as anyone else's.

"Where are your friends?" she says finally when the clock strikes midnight and he jolts, seemingly coherent.

"Sirius broke his foot. Bloody idiot kicked the wall and broke his foot. They were like parents to him, too, you know. Well, closest thing he ever had at any rate. He's in the hospital wing," James says suddenly aware of her hand still in his and staring at their joined fingers with something like awe.

"And Remus? Peter?" Lily asks.

"I assume Peter is trying to calm Sirius down and Remus is actually calming Sirius down, as he is apparently the only person in the world capable of doing so," James said dryly.

Lily smiles up at him. His friends have always made him seem almost inhuman, like he was just playing a part for her. For the first time, here and now, his friends make him seem all-too-human and she's instantly grateful to them for it.

"I'm surprised you stayed," he says suddenly. His gaze on her is a bit unnerving, but he's no longer staring at the fire so Lily considers that a good thing and stares back.

"You needed to tell someone, someone who could understand," Lily nods sympathetically. "I get that."

He sucks in a quick breath and his eyes dart back and forth quickly, searching her face with renewed intensity.

"Your dad," he questions in a voice that's really more of a statement. "Last year."

"And my mum when I was ten," she replies with barely watery eyes and a tiny sad smile.

James looks back toward the fire but is silent for a long moment. She gives him the space his mind needs and the comfort of another human presence as best she can, leaning into his solid form and drawing his arm around her.

"Does it ever get easier?" he asks finally, looking back at her.

"The pain dulls," Lily says after a moment of deliberation. "But, it never disappears. You'll always miss them and it will always hurt, but it won't always hurt like it does now."

"Good," he says quietly. "Good. I'm glad it doesn't go away."

And Lily knows exactly what he means.

She shifts slightly in her seat to get more comfortable and he tenses perceptibly, tightening his arm around her shoulder.

"Please don't leave, Lily," he says in a small voice she'd have never believed to belong to James Potter two hours ago.

She looks up at him and brushes his wild hair off his forehead and lends a sympathetic smile. And for the first time she sees the man that's hidden behind the little boy she's known all these years. He's not the child who pulled her pigtails or dropped a frog down the back of her shirt. He's not even the boy who transfigured a quill into a nightingale that sang "Please go with me to Hogsmeade, Lily!" last week. She's never seen this man before and she wonders if maybe they won't have an entirely different script to act out than the one with the boy she once knew.

"I'm not planning on going anywhere, James," she says.

And she doesn't.


End file.
